Talk Without Speaking

To say that death is a part of life is, to me, like saying that black is a part of white or that dry is a part of wet or something equally ludicrous. I understand that this is one-of-those-things that people will say to other people when someone has died, a way of rationalizing and coping I suppose. It’s not that I am blind to the realities of mortality (after all this, no, I am certainly not) but to say that death is part of life sounds like a complete and utter crock to me.

I’ve had a few people say this to me over the past few months. I suppose it’s because they don’t know what else to say. Or perhaps they believe it? When someone says this to me my mind and heart closes to them, I stop listening, I tune out because I think that the way we feel about this situation is so different as to prevent there being any understanding at all.

Death is not a part of life. It is the end of life. It might be an inevitable suffix but that doesn’t mean that they are the same and I certainly don’t believe that they walk hand in hand. This feels like a mistake.

It’s been a rough day. I woke up at 5am with this dream in my mind that won’t leave. It’s probably the fourth dream that I remember since my father died and perhaps it gains power from that, I don’t know. I am left with fear and sorrow and a lack of faith and I have spent the entire day today trying to shake that feeling but it just doesn’t seem meant to be. The sleep loss alone (when I wake up there’s almost never *really* getting back to sleep) is enough to shade the day. I try to let the cold and the wind really sink in; I’ve always believed in purification through freezing (I think this is how people who grow up in Ottawa survive winters).

The only thing that touches me is the knowledge that the people who love and care for me are there. There might not be anything they can do except to let me know that they do care but God, what a difference that makes. I would not be making it through this without you.